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One of the many things we loved about Paris was the butter. Specifically, Échiré butter. It’s like the champagne of butter, in that to be called Échiré it has to come from a certain area in France because the local soil is geologically distinct from surrounding areas. It’s cultured, contains 84% butterfat, and is produced mostly by hand. No wonder the French keep 85% of the production for themselves.

After eating it, Canadian butter has forever been ruined for us. And, of course, we couldn’t find a place that sells Échiré here. But A didn’t give up, he had a meeting in Montreal yesterday and figured there must be a place in Montreal where he could find some.

A little googling (and a drive to the market from a fellow foodie coworker, who was also recently in France and also going through French butter withdrawal) was all it took—A came home, adorable and victorious, with a little basket of butter in his bag and a Parisian baguette tucked under his arm. We have since had it with dinner, breakfast, and lunch. I don’t want to even think about my cholesterol level right now but man, is it ever worth it.